


stuck in between, caught in the meantime

by mallory



Series: it’s what you do to me (oh amy) [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-it, Episode: s03e05 Halloween III, F/M, Gen, LLF Comment Project, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What hurts most is that these are the two people in her life today whom she especially admires, both professionally and personally, and they saw her as nothing but an undignified pawn that could be swayed by insincere praises.</p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <b>
      <em>~&~</em>
    </b>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>Amy receives her apologies from both Jake and Holt, and she and Jake spend the night together.<p>Reposted with additional content. (It’s porn. With feelings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck in between, caught in the meantime

**Author's Note:**

> It got more serious than I intended somewhere in the middle but I felt it was necessary to explore that side of it. I did try to make it lighter considering they’re giant goofballs at heart.
> 
> Edited: 30/10/17.

Amongst the clapping and cheers, Amy takes her last bow with a smile that’s starting to feel a little too forced and a laugh that sounds a little too false.

Captain Holt hands her a glass with a smile. She accepts it gratefully and, when he’s moved far enough into the establishment that he can’t see her, downs half of it in three gulps.

“Whoa, there,” Jake exclaims, hand clutching her bent elbow. Though whether to stop her or encourage her, Amy isn’t sure.

She drops her arm as she swallows her last mouthful, shaking her head a little to chase away the slight dizziness that clouds her head. Jake’s hand distracts her as it slides from her elbow up to her shoulder, the thick layers of the janitor’s overalls and her robe stealing away the warmth from his touch. She doesn’t know if she’s relieved or regretful of that.

With her eyes still trained on her drink, she wipes her mouth with the back of her free hand and tries to hide the burp that rises in her throat.—No wait, that’s her heart.

Despite being triumphant in fooling and beating both the Captain and Jake at their own game, she’s still hurt by the way they treated her today. It brought back past pains and old insecurities that Amy used to share with her mother during their mother-daughter time, huddled together on her parents’ bed with ice cream and popcorn and a rom-com in the VRC. Humiliating stories and deep fears would tumble gracelessly through trembling lips about how Amy foolishly thought a group of people at school really wanted to be her friend—only to find out they needed to pass AP English—or how her brother Alex called her an annoying loser for wanting to play video games with him and Matthew.

(What hurts most is that these are the two people in her life today whom she especially admires, both professionally and personally, and they saw her as nothing but an undignified pawn that could be swayed by insincere praises.)

Clearing her throat with little ease, Amy switches the glass to her other hand and reaches for the sleeve around Jake’s bicep. Her fingers are wet and cold from her drink as they scrunch around the soft plaid fabric.

Jake’s chattering on a mile a minute to someone in front of them. As she brings her eyes up to his face, she tugs on his sleeve to capture his attention, only to find that his eyes are already watching her even as his words fall like water from his mouth.

Amy casts her gaze to the third party, Charles, and hastily throws him an apologetic look before turning back to Jake. “Can we talk?”

He grins. “Talk, right, yes. Definitely. Later Boyle.”

As she turns to find somewhere quieter, she catches Charles throwing Jake an eager thumbs up.

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

Amy leads him to a more secluded part of the bar near the restrooms, weaving around people and tables and careful not to get her robe caught on the backs of protruding chairs people left untucked.

She faces him and sighs. “Jake—” The rest of her sentence is garbled when Jake presses his lips to hers in a quick, but mind-erasing kiss. Fluttering her eyes in surprise, she licks her tingling lips. “Minty.”

“I gurgled some emergency mouth wash Boyle keeps in his car. He has a lot of things packed in there. It’d be the perfect place to live. A moving house, how cool would that be?”

Before she loses Jake to the idea of a mobile home and hear him talk himself into actually doing it, Amy speaks up, “I really want to talk—”

Hitchcock suddenly appears at her side with a hopeful smile. “Can I have a turn with the crown?”

A little annoyed with the interruptions, Amy yanks it from her head and tugs on the strings of her robe before shoving them into Hitchcock’s arms. “Here.”

“Thanks Amy!” He spins around and starts waving the crown over his head. “Scully, I got it!”

Sighing, she rubs the centre of her forehead with two fingers in an attempt to ease the throb that’s starting to form there.

“Hey,” Jake says in a subdued voice, “I’ll take you home.”

“But I want to—”

“Talk,” they chorus.

Jake smiles lopsidedly. “Yeah. There’s less of a chance to be interrupted, and I promise to be good.”

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

The car ride back to her apartment building is quiet. Both pairs of eyes are trained out at their city. The crack in her window brings in the fall wind and tangles with her hair, the frigid air almost hurting the back of her nose as she breathes it in.

Amy hits the turn signal and steers her car at the appropriate intersection before returning her hand to the gear shift.

Jake’s hand clasps over hers. It’s warm and inviting. She turns her hand over and twines their fingers together.

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

With the janitor’s overalls under one arm and Jake’s hand on her other, Amy stops in front of her apartment door and turns to him hesitantly. She isn’t sure their being alone is a good idea and she doesn’t want him getting ideas by inviting him inside, like spending the night over.

Just as she opens her mouth, he holds a hand up and drops his head. When he picks it back up, he sighs. “Listen, before you say anything, I just want to say sorry about the way I acted. I got really caught up in the heist and beating Holt that I wasn’t thinking. I did and said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Amy briefly wonders if that means he doesn’t love her or if he shouldn’t have said it at that moment. Then she pushes that aside and concentrates on her well-deserved apology because now is not the time to over-analyse.

“You were right earlier. You are your own person and I’m proud that you annihilated us both and reminded us just how great you are.”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she looks down with a frown at the neatly folded jumpsuit pressed between her arms and chest. “Today was really crappy for me. It reminded me of what it was like in high school, something I never wanted to revisit.”

His hand appears in her line of sight and hovers over hers unsurely before it pulls away. She follows, from under her lashes, as it falls at his side and balls into a fist. When she looks up at him, she’s caught by the intense look he’s giving her—an interesting mix of guilt and empathy.

“But,” she carries on slowly, “it gave me the chance to stand up for myself in a way that I never could when I was younger. I’m glad I got a chance to do that, if only because it’s made me realise how much more I believe in myself."

“I’m sorry that was how you realised it,” he whispers sincerely.

Shrugging, Amy agrees just as quietly at the same time his stomach grumbles.

Jake pats his stomach and puffs out his cheeks. “I should go.”

“Stay.” It comes out before she can think to say it, but she doesn’t regret her request, so when Jake’s surprised, “Really?” escapes his slightly gawking mouth, she chances a smile. “Yeah. I’m a little hungry too. Plus I think you owe me dinner.”

“At least,” he adds, his eyebrows raising along with his mood. “But no Mexican tonight, I don’t think my stomach can take it.”

“Wimp," she teases, turning around to unlock her door.

“Don’t start with that if you don’t want me on your toilet for half an hour again.”

With her key tucked into the lock, Amy throws up the free hand in defeat, scrunching her nose in disdain. “Fair enough.”

It took half a bottle of air freshener and the small bathroom window wide open to air out the smell that Amy could only describe as if the devil from hell visited.

She flicks on her light switch just inside before stepping back to let Jake in first. Following after him, she closes the door behind her and leans against it, watching his eyes sweep the place as he pushes up the sleeves of his plaid shirt.

It’s not something of which she thought much before—the meticulous way in which he takes her apartment—and she wonders if it’s to commit a part of her life to his memory or just simply an instinct through years as a cop.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as his eyes land back on her.

Dropping her gaze, she shrugs and pushes off from the door. “Anything but pizza.”

His fingers snap ruefully, fist swaying a slight curve. “Damn.”

She gestures with the overalls still in hand in the direction of her bedroom and tells him she’s going to change out of the gym clothes she’s currently sporting.

Flipping the bedroom switch, she toes off her shoes and places them with a dull clunk on the hardwood floor beside the tallboy adjacent the door. Then she reaches into the first drawer for a clean tank top.

She’s tugging on a pair of yoga pants up the first leg when there’s a knock on her door and Jake’s head pokes in.

“What…?” The rest of his sentence dies, probably because his eyes are busy following the movements of her hands as she continues to pull up the tights. “You’d think watching her get dressed wouldn’t be almost as sexy as watching her get _un_ dressed,” he murmurs—to himself, she presumes. “Title of my sextape.”

Amy snorts at his ridiculousness and straightens as she snaps the elastic around her waist. “What is it, dummy?”

His eyes slowly trace up the length of her body to meet hers and she tries not to be affected by his distracting gaze. “Um… How—How’s Chinese?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Cool,” he mutters, disappears behind the door and as he draws further away, she faintly catches the string of ‘cool’s fading down the short hall.

The janitor’s overalls buzzes on her bed and she reaches for it to dig for her forgotten phone from the pocket. It’s a text from Al with instructions to bring it back when she gets the chance to stop by again, along with an open invitation to dinner with him and his wife.

With her phone clutched in both hands, she texts back an eager affirmative while trekking her way back to the living room where she can hear Jake sprouting off her usual on his cell.

Placing her phone on the coffee table, she waves a hand to capture his attention and mimes tilting a cup to her mouth.

He nods and murmurs distractedly, “Whatever you’re having,” before saying loudly, “No, no. Chicken dumplings. _Dumplings_.”

She hurries to the kitchen for two wineglasses from the glass door cupboards beside the fridge, and as she passes the breakfast bar on her way back, reaches for the half-opened bottle of red wine in the centre. By the time she’s settled on the opposite end of the couch from where Jake’s currently resting, he’s bidding a quick farewell to the person on the other end and hanging up.

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

“You’re mad,” Jake reveals cautiously, his calculating gaze trained on her so resolutely she’s entirely aware of herself. Of her stiff spine, the pressure between her brows and her white-knuckling grip on the stem of her glass.

She curbs her sudden bout of agitation, because anger means losing control and losing control is the one thing Amy Santiago hates to do. Rubbing her forehead with three fingers, she heaves out a sigh that she hopes contains all traces of her irritation.

Amy doesn’t know how they got here. One minute they were aimlessly discussing the knife Rosa pulled from her jacket at work between eating their Chinese takeout, then the next thing she knows, she’s reprimanding Jake for accidentally dropping a dumpling into his lap.

“I’m not mad,” she counters.

“Not about the dumpling.” He reaches for the stack of napkins beside the extra chopsticks on the coffee table, picks up the offending dumpling and carelessly drops it into his takeout box. He’s swiping at the patch of grease stain on the left thigh of his jeans when he elaborates, “About today.”

Appetite suddenly lost, she pushes her own box onto the table next to his and takes a napkin for herself. She repeats her statement more resolutely and tries to find another word to describe how she’s feeling. “I’m… I’m upset. Disappointed. A little annoyed.”

His face pinches tighter with every adjective until it looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. She’d laugh at how ridiculous he looks if it doesn’t also encourage the urge to cry—another thing that means losing control.

“I’m used to being underestimated. I grew up with seven boys would didn’t think their baby sister could do the things they could.” She swallows and finishes quietly, “But I never expected it from you.”

“I can’t say sorry enough,” he announces, just as softly.

She swiftly wipes her mouth with the napkin and bunches it up into a ball before aiming it at her box. It rebounds on a flap and falls dejectedly to the floor at her feet.

She doesn’t know how much weight his words hold for her right now anyway. She briefly wonders if he’s serious about their relationship, but he looks so sincere and sorrowful right here that she doesn’t care—at least not tonight.

So Amy goes for the next best thing: she grabs his shoulders and hauls him closer to smash their mouths together.

Jake protests, a muffled exclamation of a sound, which only fuels her drive to take matters into her own hands.

She kisses him wetly and only when he reciprocates does she let up on her hold of him. That’s when he pulls away and frowns at her. “Amy, wha…?” There must be some kind of expression on her face because the rest of his sentence dies on his lips and concern turns the corners down.

“I don’t want to fight,” she states, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away any further.

“Me too,” he breathes.

Tracing his lightening bolt constellation of freckles with her lips, Amy smiles at the audible hitch of his breath right beside her ear. She stands from the couch and pulls off her tank top before unceremoniously dropping the garment onto his head.

He drags it off, mussing up his hair, to reveal his slack jaw and wide eyes—wide riveted eyes trained solely on her and reminding her of other, better things Jake’s made her feel.

She steps from between the couch and coffee table and begins her journey back to her bedroom. Her yoga pants come off next at the end of the hall where the kitchen and small dining area converge to meet the living room.

She sheds a trail of clothing for Jake to track should he please. But just in case the idea of her nakedness is not enough incentive, she leaps onto the bed, the mattress groaning under the sudden pressure of her weight, and calls out his name breathlessly, the way that never fails to drive him crazy and makes him drive _her_ harder.

Not a moment later, there’s a dull thud, followed quickly by a muffled curse. And then the rush of muted footsteps as he barrels across the apartment and barges into the room. He’s already stripped down to his _Lord of the Rings_ printed boxer briefs and—surprise—blue socks that actually match.

She pats the bedspread in the space beside her and he dives onto it in such an eager and silly manner that draws a laugh out of her as she bounces with the force of the movement.

He shimmies out of his underwear. “Socks on or off?”

“Hmm… on,” she decides.

As he props himself on his elbow on his side, he blinks and smiles at her, as if asking _What now_?

Amy answers the wordless question with an equally silent action: she reaches out, wraps her hand around his growing erection and pumps firmly a few times, drawing out a deep groan she wishes she could feel vibrating right up against her chest.

Shuffling closer to him, she presses a kiss into the dimple of his chin then pushes him onto his back. She ghosts her lips down his neck slowly, making her way down his chest, breathing hotly against his skin and giving him little random licks along the way.

She’s settled between his legs when she reaches for him again—this time with her mouth.

“Fuuuck,” he hisses in a whisper, apparently incapable of finding his voice. She curbs her smile at the knowledge that she’s eliciting such a response from him and she’s only just started.

The sensitive head of his cock receives most of her attention as her tongue gives quick lashes in him varying degrees of pressure; a random combination of feather-light and firm. As she carefully bobs her head further down his length, his hand swiftly tangles into her hair, the pads of his fingers massaging the back of her scalp encouragingly as he pants heavily above her.

Once she’s teased him into a fully-fledged erection, she climbs onto his lip, sitting directly on it, and grinds a groan out of him.

“Wait, wait—I wanna taste you,” he rasps even as his hips lift and the base of his cock pushes against her clit and it’s like a burst of euphoria at the first touch of the bundle of nerves.

God, she’s aroused.

“Later,” she utters quickly, dodging his hands trying for purchase on her breasts, and leans over the bedside table for the condom. “I want you inside.”

With the condom carefully and correctly applied, she returns her weight on his groin, but doesn’t slide down on to his erection yet.

Jake grips her wrists and tries to thrust up against her every time she slides up to the head of his cock, which pushes him against her clit and causes gratifyingly frustrating explosions of pleasure. Still she doesn’t put him where they both want him to be.

Amy wants to tear down his defences; strip him of the humour to which he clutches so tightly. The only times she feels beyond a doubt how much their relationship means to him is when they’re making love. He’s vulnerable and honest and just Jake. There’s still the quips and the silliness, but it’s the intensity that takes the driver’s seat as he moves with her, inside her.

She needs that feeling of conviction that this means something to him—that _they_ mean something. That it’s real for him. Because as much as Jake talks, he doesn’t often open up about his feelings in a manner she wants to take seriously.

On the too-mindless-with-sensation-to-countth slide, Jake groans loudly, frustration cording his neck muscles. “Please! Amy, would you—” His breath hitches when she interrupts him by reaching between her legs to hold and sink down onto him slowly, her other hand on his chest to brace herself.

When he’s in to the hilt, Amy bites her lip and peers down at Jake’s expression.

His face is slack with relief, eyes closed and fluttering lightly as they roll around behind his eyelids. “Amy Santiago,” he mutters, “if you don’t move right now there will be no sex for two days.”

She smiles to herself. “You’re a horndog—you can’t outlast me.”

His eyes open and they immediately lock onto hers, intense and brown and crinkled in the corners. “Is that a challenge?”

“You bet your butt it is.”

“Screw it,” he mutters. Jake’s always been eager to move things along so she’s not surprised when the next thing she knows, she’s on her back with their foreheads touching and he’s rutting into her unevenly, and it feels _so good_.

She meets his thrusts, encouraging a steadier pace with her legs flanking his hips. Her arms move up to wrap around his neck, driving fingers into the hair at the back of his head. His own hands grip her shoulders from the back, as if trying to anchor himself to her.

Mindless with passion, Amy breathlessly demands, “Tell me.”

She doesn’t even know what she means; what she wants him to say, but true to Jake, he always has something. “You’re an amazing genius, the Queen. Queen of the world—oh my god—of the universe,” he babbles nonsensically.

That makes her laugh.

His cheeks are flushed with passion and exertion under the ambient light. “Fuck, when you laugh, you squeeze around me tight.”

It’s the last thing either of them say coherently because the next twenty minutes finds them filling the room with sighs and moans as they move together and race each other to climax. They practice varying speeds and their hands roam, stroke, pinch; taking advantage of what they know the other likes and what drives them crazy.

Her legs straighten to keep his feet company and the cotton of his socks rubbing against her feet and ankles feels incredibly hedonic. His wide, potent eyes take turns watching her face and down where the action is, bottom lip held captured between his teeth. Sometimes she coaxes it out from its confines with kisses, but it slips back almost immediately after. She kind of loves the look, like he’s trying (and failing) to keep embarrassing noises from spilling out.

She gets there first, Jake moving her along with tight circles over her clit and dirty, broken whispers into her ear. He’s quick to follow, riding his orgasm on the heels of her own and making sexy grunts and gasps.

He’s gentle when he pulls out and as he moves to dispose of the condom, Amy stares up at the shadows on her ceiling. Her chest is heaving, but it’s not heavy—like there’s a weight lifted off of it and she’s found new room to breathe.

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

Back at work on Monday, Amy’s barely settled at her desk before the Captain calls her in to his office.

Nervous, she quickly makes her way there and frowns at the empty desk.

“Detective Santiago,” Holt says deeply from her right and she’s surprised to see he’s on the couch. He gestures to the seat beside him with his glasses. "Please, take a seat.”

Doing as she says, albeit slower than usual to his command, she eyes him in concern. “Everything okay, Captain?”

He watches her for a moment with something in his expression she can’t place. It’s still as detached and restrained as usual, but there’s something strange about it. Something unfamiliar.

(Years later, Amy will see it once more as the two sit with a small table between them and a drink in their hands on the back porch of his home as they talk about if they could have done one thing differently in their life. She’ll see regret masking his thinner, but otherwise relaxed face.)

“I think it should be appropriate you call me Ray for the conversation that’s about to succeed.” He pauses, then tacks on meaningfully, “Amy.”

She blinks, unable to rejoice in the new development of their professional relationship because her heart rate picks up, confusion and anxiety reaching a whole new level. “Okay… Ray.”

He clears his throat and shifts around to face her more. “I’d like to apologise profusely for my behaviour the other night. My taking advantage of your respect for me and my authority over you is unprofessional at best and appalling at worst.”

“Oh.” Amy shakes her head, about to automatically wave it off with a few half-hearted words. Then, because she really was disappointed with him, she bites it back. She’s understanding more the difference between truly respecting a person and unbridled admiration, and more importantly, remembering that they’re human just the same and are capable of making mistakes, just like Amy herself.

“Jake spoke to me this morning.”

Curiosity piques. Jake mentioned having an early work thing this morning as he scrambled to put his clothes on and brush his teeth at the same time. Which only resulted in him putting on his pants backwards and getting toothpaste on his t-shirt. Amy tilts her head and can’t keep the surprise from her, “Oh?”

“Yes. He brought to my attention to how disrespectful we were toward you.” He leans forward and places a hand to her forearm. “I’m truly sorry. I hope what happened didn’t break the trust you have in me as your mentor. If it has, I understand. More than that, I promise that I will earn it back.”

“Thank you, sir,” she smiles gratefully.

“If I may, your actions that night has done nothing but increase my respect for you.” Does she detect a hint of a smile from him? “As a detective and... as a growing acquaintance.” His head bows slightly in her direction.

Heart pounding, now for a completely different reason, Amy’s smile grows so big she’s unable and unwilling to stop the delighted laugh that escapes.

He clears his throat and excuses her, standing to move behind his desk.

When she’s positive she can walk out of his office without falling and making a fool of herself, she makes her way back out into the bullpen.

 

_** ~&~ ** _

 

Jake’s at his desk, and when their gaze meet, he winks at her.

Amy thinks maybe she falls in love with him a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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